The days turned into a blur of relentless effort. Every waking moment not spent assisting Cerys was consumed by training. My body ached, my mind felt like it was stretched thin, and the lines between progress and frustration blurred with each passing hour.
I practiced the same basic exercises over and over again, trying to summon a flame, expand it, control it, and disperse it with precision. Some days, the spark refused to come at all; other days, it flared too wildly, singeing the edges of the notes I'd scribbled during my lessons.
"You're pushing too hard," Lyra said one evening, watching me struggle with a simple spell. "Magic doesn't work like swordsmanship, Aric. You can't force it into submission."
"I don't have time to take it slow," I snapped, the frustration boiling over. "The competition is weeks away, and I'm barely making progress."
"That's because you're treating this like a race," she said, her tone sharp but not unkind. "Magic requires patience. Control. You're trying to sprint when you've barely learned how to walk."
Her words hung in the air as I stared at the flickering flame in my hand. She wasn't wrong, but the weight of the competition, of everything we needed to accomplish, pressed down on me like a storm cloud.
That night, as Lyra slept, I sat cross-legged on the floor of our room, the pendant at my chest pulsing faintly with its steady warmth. The streets of Ebonreach were quiet, the usual hum of the city muted under the blanket of darkness.
I closed my eyes, focusing on my breathing. The flow of mana was there, brushing against my senses like the edge of a breeze, but each attempt to draw it in felt clumsy and forced.
Feel the flow. Shape it. Release it.
The mantra repeated in my mind as I reached out again, pulling the energy toward me. A faint spark appeared above my palm, flickering unsteadily before fading.
Frustration clawed at my chest as I clenched my fists. "Why won't it work?" I muttered, my voice barely audible in the stillness.
The pendant pulsed again, the warmth spreading through my chest like a comforting whisper. I took a deep breath, letting the tension in my shoulders ease. This time, instead of forcing the mana to obey, I let it flow naturally, following its rhythm instead of imposing my own.
The spark returned, steady and warm, growing brighter as I shaped it into a small flame. For the first time, the energy felt... right.
As the flame hovered above my palm, something shifted. The pendant's warmth grew stronger, its steady pulse turning into a rapid thrum that seemed to echo through my entire body. My vision blurred, and a wave of dizziness washed over me.
Then the memories hit.
I was no longer in the dim confines of our room. Instead, I stood in a vast hall bathed in golden light, its towering arches carved with intricate runes that glowed faintly. The air buzzed with energy, the weight of it pressing against my chest like an unseen force.
A voice called out, firm and commanding. "Focus, Aric. The magic is part of you. Let it guide you."
I turned to see a man standing before me, his face stern but kind. He wore the flowing robes of a mentor, his hands moving in precise patterns as he demonstrated a spell.
I mimicked his movements, my younger self fumbling with the flow of energy as the spell flickered and failed. The man smiled faintly, kneeling to meet my gaze.
"Again," he said gently. "Control comes with practice, not impatience."
The scene shifted, and I was older, sparring with another young warrior in a courtyard surrounded by towering spires. Our wooden swords clashed, the sound echoing through the air as we moved with practiced precision.
"Good," the mentor's voice said, his tone approving. "But you must be faster. Stronger. The Vanguard doesn't wait for the unprepared."
The memories came faster now, a cascade of training sessions, battles, and moments of triumph and failure. Each one carried the same undercurrent of purpose and determination, a reminder of who I had been—and who I was meant to become.
I gasped as the memories faded, my chest heaving as I collapsed back onto the floor of our room. My body trembled, and the faint hum of the pendant against my chest steadied me as I tried to catch my breath.
But something was different.
The flow of mana was no longer elusive. It surged through me now, steady and strong, like a river that had finally broken through a dam. My hands felt steadier, my thoughts sharper, and the weight of my sword, leaning against the wall, seemed lighter than before.
I closed my eyes, reaching for the energy again. This time, it responded instantly, gathering at my fingertips with a speed and precision that had eluded me before.
I shaped the mana into a small flame, then expanded it into a larger sphere of fire, its edges smooth and controlled. The strain that had once accompanied the effort was gone, replaced by a sense of balance and ease.
A faint smile tugged at my lips as I extinguished the flame, the warmth of the energy lingering in my chest.
"Let's see what I can do now," I murmured, my voice filled with renewed determination.
The next morning, Lyra raised an eyebrow as I greeted her, my steps lighter and my demeanor noticeably different.
"You're in a good mood," she said, her tone suspicious.
"I made a breakthrough," I said simply.
She narrowed her eyes. "A breakthrough? At three in the morning?"
I nodded, unable to keep the smile from my face. "Something clicked. I'll explain later, but for now, I need to practice."
Lyra studied me for a moment before nodding slowly. "Fine. But don't overdo it."
"I won't," I said, though I knew my promise was half-hearted. There was too much at stake to hold back now.
The road to the competition was still daunting, but for the first time, I felt like I had a chance.